


Closing Walls

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: Nasty MU series [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescued out of the hands of their torturers, our heroes are finally united again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Walls

**Author's Note:**

> This is the seventh and final part of my nasty MU series, which consists of "Tied", "Revelations", "Obsession I - Enterprise", "Obsession II - Vulcan", "Revenge" and "Found and Lost". It doesn't make much sense without the prequels.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta roadstergal for her great work and to Janet for brainstorming.
> 
> Originally posted March 2007.

The fields were green and yellow, following the river left and right in small sloops to the little hills at the horizon. The leaves of the trees were dancing in the wind, rustling gently. Beneath the feet of the men, the small pebbles that covered the path crunched under their boots. They walked slowly, trying not to step on the little tufts of small red flowers that had grown on a strip of grass in the middle of the path.

McCoy laced his hand with Spock's. "It's paradise, isn't it?"

He looked at his lover, admiring the way how the light-green robe complemented the color of Spock's face. He wore a similar garment, but with short sleeves, as the weather was warm and the sun was shining, painting a palette of pastel colors into the sky. A little breeze from the water played in their hair, making the longer strands dance in the wind.

Spock nodded and tightened their joined grip.

Hand in hand they walked up a little hill, the river now to their feet. McCoy could already see the big tree that was their usual goal. The spot had everything; a beautiful view, a little shadow from the sun, and the softest spot of ground around, thanks to a bed of moss. When they reached it, Spock pulled out a little tablecloth and prepared their picnic, a concession to McCoy's human heritage.

"The food looks very tasty," McCoy said as he eyed the mixture of Vulcan and human dishes, some fruits lying between. He took an apple and heartily bit it. It was juicy and left a wonderful taste on his tongue.

"It is not as tasty as you," Spock said, and pulled McCoy closer.

"I didn't eat anything yet," McCoy protested playfully, but put the apple aside.

"I will give you all the nourishment you need for now." Spock kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth with that long, hot, flexible Vulcan tongue. It danced around, then settled into a mouth-fucking in-out rhythm.

McCoy's groin flooded with blood.

When they broke the kiss, all McCoy could do was to grin sheepishly. But Spock didn't give him time to recover - he pressed McCoy down on his back and crouched over the groin to open the fly of McCoy's black pants. The erection sprang out instantly, welcoming the warm hands that wrapped around it.

McCoy groaned and closed his eyes. Was it really only months since Spock had been the reluctant lover, searching in the unexplored field of consensual pleasures for a way to behave? The Vulcan had never learned to interact with an equal bed partner before; how much more satisfying was it that Spock had learned it with him?

No more lies. No more deception.

McCoy gasped as Spock's mouth descended on his erection, engulfing it fully. He couldn't help but move his hips against Spock's face, trying to enhance the stimulation. He was so ready, he was so horny, he needed to have it now, fast and furious. He didn't want to wait for the first orgasm - they could have many more later, but for now his groin was on fire and he wanted to jump into the blissful, cooling tide.

He arched, feeling Spock's lips around the base of his dick and the light scratching of Spock's whiskers; he felt the coolness of air on his wet shaft as Spock pulled back and teased the glans with his tongue.

"Come on, don't torture me," he grunted. Spock complied and sent him into a mind-shattering orgasm.

Regular breathing came back slowly, so slowly, and reality returned even later. Spock was lying next to him now, arm in arm on the moss.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

"Very much," McCoy whispered and kissed his mate, tasting his own come on the Vulcan's lips. Then he yawned. "I'm a little tired. Think I'm going to doze off for a moment or two. That's all right by you?"

Spock stroke McCoy's cheek. "Of course," he said softly.

McCoy barely felt his head lolling to the side as he slipped into sleep, taking this wonderful, perfect moment with him.

*

Spock pulled his hand back from McCoy's face and opened his eyes. The cell was dimly lit from the small light tunnels on top of it; it was midday, he thought, but which day exactly, he could not tell. The little calendar on the wall, scraped into the stones with a sharpened spoon, was more an estimate than a real guide. His mind did not register time once they entered a dreamwalk, and that was intended and welcome. For once, Spock did not wish to really know how long their imprisonment had lasted - to know the numbers would not make the end any more likely. However, knowing the rough time span made it easier for McCoy to endure the situation, and that was the only reason for registering it. Spock's current estimate was that another two days had gone by with this walk, and he added the small lines, scraping the spoon's top in the process.

Then he went up with staggering movements, fighting for balance for a moment. He had to stand up once in a while, even though all of his muscles protested against the unwelcome strain. But if he did not, his leg muscles would stop supporting him completely, and he did not want to reach such a deteriorated state.

And so he dragged himself to the little gap in the other wall where the food came through. It would have been so easy for their jailors to give them a food processor - they had given their captives a sonic shower, after all - but Spock supposed that the food was a means to control them. There had been instances when he had not eaten it, feeling that it might be poisoned; once, they both had gotten sick, but it had never been clear if it had been intentional or not. They had recuperated, but those had been hard days, because no dreamwalks had been able to make McCoy's situation more bearable.

And Spock's own.

The two dishes on the tray were small, containing barely enough food to keep the prisoners from starvation; a little flask of water sat next to them. They needed to live - that was the one rule Stonn had to adhere to. But he kept their comfort level to a bare minimum, and if it had not been for the dreamwalks, they would probably have gone insane by now.

Spock took the tray and limped back to McCoy's coiled figure, sitting down next to the man with it. There was no need to wake his mate up yet - the food had waited for them at least a day, and another few hours would not make it much worse than it was. In fact, the olive Spock tested was already rancid, and he wiped his soiled hand on his chest, not wanting to lick it clean. The rough endings of the cut fingers ran over his pronounced ribs and the never-quite-healed lines that the cutting rubber had pressed into his body.

There were moments when he wished he had died there.

And then there were even more moments in which he wished McCoy had chosen differently in the one moment they could choose at all. A human's ability to cling to life was astonishing, but McCoy should have trusted Spock in this.

"I should have chosen execution with you."

Spock looked up from his fingers to meet McCoy's gaze. McCoy lay on his side, his body forced into an arc by the short chains that ran between the handcuffs behind his back and the anklecuffs of the same side. It was uncomfortable, but there were not many alternative positions, and none of them allowed McCoy to stretch out.

"I'm sorry, Spock," McCoy whispered. "I know it does not change a thing, but I need to say it."

Spock was unsure how many times he had listened to this apology; possibly more than a thousand times, but he tried to forget it. He had tried to forget the whole scene in T'Pau's hall, the moment in which she had left them the choice and McCoy had chosen life. But in almost perverse persistence, his mate liked to recall the fatal moment over and over again.

"And I have already said that you could not have known what the life in the Sheeiet would be," Spock said, feeding McCoy with a foul-smelling piece of meat. McCoy pulled a face but ate anyway.

"You have warned me, Spock."

"I said it would not be as bad as the situations we had survived. Which was correct, but misleading. I did not inform you that the Sheeiet meant imprisonment with only a marginal chance of freedom - only if Stonn and all his children would die."

"It may not be as worse, but it's not much better." McCoy took another piece of meat from Spock's hands.

"I offered to make the dream permanent for you. It was you who insisted on facing the reality of this cell between the dreamwalks."

McCoy shook his head. "Even if it's hell, I want to see it once in a while. I want to know that I can distinguish between dreams and reality, no matter how bad it is. I've had enough of mind wipes and drugging."

That was another argument Spock had listened to more than a thousand times. He understood it rationally, but if he were given the offer, he would choose eternal dream. There was not a minute in which he could forget the pain in his body; the broken, wrongly healed bones that led to inner injuries and inflammations, and his permanently cut fingers that made the meld with McCoy especially exhausting. It had taken some time for Spock to be able to induce the dreamwalks; he would have greatly preferred to be drugged into oblivion. There was no meaning in this kind of existence; they were living dead, shut off from the world, and it was unlikely they would ever be needed as heirs to the House. T'Pau had offered them execution to end their long suffering, but McCoy had wanted to live. And so he had, and Spock had to join him.

Their discussion ceased; it was meaningless anyway. When Spock had fed everything edible to McCoy, and eaten, himself, he carried the tray back to the opening. Afterwards, he helped McCoy crawl into the sonic shower, and they took one together. It was the only real comfort they had, in a barren cell with no mattresses, no clothes, no artificial light, and no running water. There was no rule that the Sheeiet had to be such a torture, but it was not forbidden either. Nobody, least of all T'Pau, cared, as long they survived.

They moved back into their chosen corner; it was as barren as any other, but the farthest from the door and the closest to the shower. McCoy searched for another position and half-lay on his back, his legs folded, his right handcuff at his side, the left resting against the back of the locked belt. Spock knew that it was not comfortable on the long run, but the change of position would be relaxing for a little while.

"Shall we enter another dreamwalk?" Spock asked, but McCoy shook his head.

"Feel free to meditate for a while, my love."

Spock nodded and soon entered a very light trance, searching for as much healing for his body as he could find in his state.

*

McCoy stared at the ceiling, where the little strip of light was already darkening. It shed a deep red light of almost fiery quality into their cell.

He knew that it wasn't sensible to live through his memories again and again. Maybe he should allow Spock to brainwash him once more; he didn't torture only himself, after all, but also his mate. It was his own fault that they were here now…well, certainly he had chosen wrong with T'Pau. The truth was that major parts of their suffering had been caused by Spock's actions. And Kirk's. And maybe his own, but he wasn't sure of that; he had too few of his memories left. It was just a little unlikely that he was only a victim in this story - he had more self-respect than to believe that.

He let his knees sink farther to the side, trying to make his position more comfortable. He could feel some cramps coming up, and he fought them with the lessons he'd learned from Spock, but he knew that ultimately, only the next dreamwalk could stop his body from protesting violently against the chains. Or maybe the deamwalks were the ones to remind his body that it had still legs to walk on and arms to move, and he should stop participating in them.

McCoy closed his eyes as other images flooded him. He had been so sure, after his rescue from the Xer and Kirk, that he would be reunited with Spock. He was, but not in the way he had hoped.

Stonn had ordered McCoy brought back into the ko-adun state; his men had left the half-cut tongue and the brandings untreated, but had removed the lip and genital piercings before they had put him into the belt again. McCoy met Spock briefly before they were to see T'Pau. They simply sat there and held each other for the full two hours. There wasn't much to say, no way to heal the wounds of both.

And then they had been put in the Sheeiet. Of course, Stonn's men had taken the opportunity to chain him up like this and push the handles of their weapons up his ass. The act was irrelevant, but the meaning was clear: Spock and McCoy were only family members by name, not by rights anymore. Stonn simply did not want to lay hands on Spock, and he therefore chose the easier target. After that, Stonn's men had caged them into this cell like animals and walled up the one small door, leaving only a slit for food. Stonn's own voice had been the last one they had heard, and he had promised them a nightmare to suffer through.

It was a living hell. And as he fought the cramps, he wondered why he tried so hard to remember.

*

It was the sound of tools working against the stone that woke McCoy from the light sleep he had slipped into. The light was already too low to see, so he tried to poke his knee against Spock.

"Spock, they're coming!" he said in agitation. "Spock!"

But Spock didn't stir, so McCoy went to his knees and moved to the side of the former door. The sounds were clearly audible, and there was a bright light shining through the food slit. Their saviors had already broken through when he reached the opening, and he had to take care that none of the falling stones hit him.

An unknown Vulcan faced him. "We have come to get you and your adun. Stonn died in a warp core breach; T'Pau declared that you are the heirs," he said.

Unable to believe the words at first, McCoy blinked at the man. Then tears of happiness began to spring out of his eyes.

"Spock," he shouted, "they are here! They are here! Spock!"

Hands caught his shoulder and pulled him into Spock's arms

"This is not real, McCoy."

McCoy pressed his head against Spock's shoulder, still sobbing for joy. "They are here, Spock. Didn't you listen what he said? We're gonna get freed."

Spock lifted his face with his forefinger. "Look at me, McCoy. Look at me and tell me what you see."

McCoy stared at him, at the nose that was straight and unbroken and the black hair that framed Spock's face and mouth - hair that he only ever had in dreamwalks.

"But…"

"You dream. Your wishes took over." Spock cradled him as the room turned darker and darker. "I wish it were true, but it is not."

McCoy whimpered. "I want to die. I want to be dead."

"I know," Spock said. "I want to be dead, as well."

They had tried once to kill themselves, but had found that it was surprisingly hard to achieve. The idea that Spock might be able to kill McCoy but not himself, as he could no longer master the full mental control necessary for the act anymore, was something McCoy didn't want to imagine. Stonn might let Spock live with a rotten corpse next to him - or his men might come in, in time, and punish Spock with yet another eternal cruelty.

Spock, on the other hand, couldn't imagine living without McCoy. In analytical moments, he had realized that the dreamwalks were a joined effort. Many of the pictures were contributed by McCoy, and it was on the basis of their bond that they could summon them up like this. Without McCoy, he would have to live alone in the reality of this cell, and he knew he would not be able to bear that and keep his sanity.

And perhaps, after all their suffering, Spock could believe that it would end some day, somehow; the hope that had made McCoy choose the Sheeiet now made Spock choose life in this prison.

"Come with me," Spock said softly, and eased McCoy back into their corner. There, he soothingly stroked McCoy's bare head. "Everything will be all right, my mate. Close your eyes and walk with me, walk into our dreamland…"

*

For a long time, there were no changes in the reccurring cycle of dreaming, eating, tending to one's bodily needs, and dreaming again. The lines in the wall added up until that section of wall filled, and Spock had to start at another place. His shortened fingers slipped when he carved the line into the virginal stone, the spoon flying to the floor. He wondered if he should pick it up again or let it lie down there on the ground. There were 1277 lines for the days he thought he remembered - there were probably some of them missing. But he took the spoon with renewed determination and scratched the new line. It made no sense to ignore what little information they had about the world outside; one day they might need it.

It was Spock's own dream that they would be freed - not to lead the House, but to be sent to another world. Spock would not mind being marooned on some planet far away - they would survive or not, but at least their final days would resemble something called life. He had never really cared about the House, or he would not have left for the Imperial Fleet as he had done as young adult. But Stonn and T'Pau, as true Vulcans, could not understand that; in their eyes, nobody would ever wish to give up rank and wealth. In Spock's dreams, there would come the day when Stonn allowed them to see the real sunlight once again, to touch green grass - to inhale the dusty air of a desert...

Unable to bear reality any longer, Spock knelt down next to McCoy, placing his stumps on the melding points. There was only one way to heal, even though it was only temporary, and he moved with little finesse, eager to succumb to the dreamwalk images. He flooded them both with memories of Vulcan as it had been in his youth; the beautiful moments when the sun came over the edge of the Forge, bathing it in brilliant, scorchingly hot light; the rare moments of spring, when the desert blossomed in the toned-down colors of the little flowers; the movement of young sandworms when they crawled over Spock's fingers, scratching them with their thin layer of sand. They rode across the dunes together on Vulcan horses, reaching an oasis; they sank into the water, that precious element. E'tka trees hung their heads over the two men, their large leaves covers against the sunlight. Someone brought tea before leaving them alone to their pleasures.

It all seemed real, so real.

But it was not, Spock remembered as his fingers slipped from McCoy's face, and sank against the wall in despair.

*

It took McCoy a few days of wakefulness to realize that something was wrong with Spock, that the seemingly impregnable Vulcan outer layer was cracking. But it took them both even longer to realize what the reason might be.

"It's Pon Farr, isn't it?" McCoy asked quietly, as Spock paced the room back and forth with far more energy than he had shown in the past months. McCoy's eyes came to rest on what was left of Spock's genitals. Mutilated over and over again, the penis hadn't extracted from its drawn-in state in the time they were here, and the balls and sack, Spock's human heritage, were missing. But the chenesi in the Vulcan's lower back still worked, and so they did what they could, leading to an erection of maybe half the size of what it had before. McCoy stared at it, knowing that the time was running out for Spock…and him.

He closed his eyes in a slight panic. Spock hadn't really touched him since they were here. All they ever had was sex in dreamwalks, where their bodies worked as they should and where orgasms were easily reached, by means of imagination and remembering the good times of their life. But in Pon Farr, it was all physical. And he didn't know how that should work between them, with Spock's mutilated genitals and the belt around his own hips once more, his anal muscle tight after years of inactivity.

McCoy opened his eyes again, watching Spock's moving silhouette in the decreasing light. "Could you burn it off in a dreamwalk?"

"I do not know." Spock's voice was anything but steady. He had to be farther gone than McCoy had thought.

"Come here, Spock. Please."

The Vulcan sank down next to him in a little distance.

"Closer, Spock."

"I would rather not. I cannot guarantee my reactions anymore."

McCoy nodded. "Does it feel like it did in the past?"

"Almost. My body does not quite…realize that I might not be able to accomplish the release I need. Which might make me hurt you in the process, without achieving my ends."

So Spock had just as much fear in him as McCoy had himself.

"It'll be all right, Spock," McCoy said. "Trust in me. Let's go on a dreamwalk." He had to act assured. If they were both visibly doubtful, this would only be more difficult.

Spock lay down eye to eye with McCoy. His hand was hot and slightly shaking as it tried to lock on the right spots.

"Calm down, Spock." McCoy whispered. "Let it flow, like a breeze of wind. Let us flow with it. Don't fight it."

They tumbled more than sank into the dreamwalk, the images unfocused and rapidly changing. They were on a sailing boat, the waters wild; a storm was coming in. Suddenly it was replaced by their favorite place under the tree. The tree vanished, too, and they walked through a labyrinth of stone walls too high to see over, the maze too large to find their way. Then there was the beast behind McCoy; it shoved him to the ground and growled into his neck, biting it until his spine almost cracked. McCoy shouted for Spock, but couldn't see him. His face pressed into the dirty, muddy ground of the labyrinth; he let the beast take its pleasure with him, feeling nothing at all.

Then the beast was gone and he sank to the side. The colors were still grey in grey, and now the labyrinth's walls closed around him, encircling him until he couldn't get up from his coiled position anymore. Stone plates came down from above, pressing on his shoulder, his hips. He was suffocating, fighting for air, but he could not change position. Tightly wedged between the cold walls, he screamed his pain into the world as they crushed him.

*

He arched, moaning as the chains bit into his limbs. He fought to reconnect to reality, unsure where it was; he had lost track of everything, and the dream world hadn't looked much different from their usual torturous surroundings. There was still a weight resting on him, but it wasn't stone - it had a heart, its drumming a steady beat that joined McCoy's. Then the weight left his body, and McCoy moved up slightly from his deeply kneeling position. His feet and legs were shoved apart; he was in a perfectly fuckable position. At least Spock had thought so.

He was pulled; he tried to fight against it, but his voice was gone; were his lips sealed once again? Helplessly he was dragged into the shower and his butt was spread again to be cleaned thoroughly.

He hated it with every fiber of his soul.

Spock brought him back to their corner, fed him and finally tried to cradle him in his arms, but McCoy rolled away.

"No," he managed to whisper at last, his voice rough.

Without a word, Spock moved away from him.

The Vulcan stayed away until the next bout of the fever; McCoy had known that and accepted it, but he always fought the procedure afterwards, hated those hands on him that only wanted to help - but demonstrated to him his own helplessness far more than he could bear.

The cycle ran for only two days, with some smaller bouts afterwards, until it ebbed completely. McCoy was raw by then, inside and outside; his knees, face, and lower legs were abraded from the floor. His eyes swollen, he moved even further into their corner as if to hide. Spock kept away for a few days except for the necessary moments of feeding, but they both couldn't live with the separation.

"I need you," Spock whispered as he finally edged closer. He did not mean it physically.

McCoy leaned his head against Spock's chest, unwilling to look at the other man. There was still too much of the beast - but the dreamwalks would heal them, as much as there could be healing at all.

"Touch my face," McCoy said and closed his eyes, allowing his chin to be moved upwards, allowing the fingers to touch him where they hadn't ever hurt him.

They slipped softly into the dreamwalk, like being packed in cotton, and sank deeper than they ever had before, their renewed bond strengthening their connection a tenfold. And for the first time, they wondered if they could simply stay in it forever.

*

They couldn't, they found out the hard way. There was still a limit to the dreamwalks, as their bodies demanded nourishment and cleansing, and so they were pulled out of their mental paradise about once every four days. They hastened to endure the necessary moments of reality, any thoughts of counting the days forgotten; they then dove quickly back into their dreamworld, a world that grew in complexity. They found a new optimal position, with McCoy's head on Spock's shoulder, which allowed the Vulcan to place his hand comfortably and without the danger of slipping down - not that it was necessary. With the stronger bond, the need for physical contact was diminished. Everything they did was to ensure that their dreams would remain undisturbed. Reality was the break in their life lived elsewhere, where the air was fresh and the sky wide, birds greeting them when they entered, beautiful libraries waiting for them. And if they desired, a wish took them to other parts of their world, where they enjoyed the night sky over the desert.

It was during one of the breaks their physical shells demanded when Spock saw that there was more on the food tray than simple dishes.

There was a laser cutter.

He had to be dreaming, Spock thought, and took it. He let his stumps dance over its outside, waiting for it to vanish, or for his fingers to grow into the healed hand of his fantasy.

But his fingers remained mutilated, and the tool was still there.

He hastily went over to McCoy. Without a word, he applied the laser cutter to the chains that tied McCoy's wrists to his ankles. They cracked open within seconds.

Very slowly, McCoy stretched his limbs, just as unbelieving. He blinked.

"No more," Spock rasped, and placed the cutter against the belt, opening it in haste. Then he fully removed the cuffs and chains. Some skin was scorched on the way, but McCoy didn't care. He moved his arms, his face distorting as pain traveled up from his tense, stiff limbs. The pain was real. But the movements were, too. He raised an arm to his face, watching his own hand curl - except for the thumb whose sinews Kirk had cut a long time ago. It seemed like in another lifetime.

"I can touch you," McCoy said, and reached out for Spock's face. His forefinger glided over the eyebrows, then down the nose. It didn't matter that the nose was crooked; in fact, it felt all the more real for that imperfection. He took Spock's face in both hands, touching the ears that had escaped mutilation against all odds. "And you're beautiful." Their fingers met, lacing. McCoy could feel the connection grow on the contact.

"Help me up," McCoy pleaded, and Spock supported him, half carrying him as the man's leg muscles, not used to walking anymore, faltered under him. But he managed a few steps before he sank down to the ground again.

"Lie down with me, in my arms," he said, and Spock complied again. McCoy laced his arms around Spock's shoulders, pulling the Vulcan as close as he could.

He could touch him. He could move.

There was heaven to be found in this world at last.

Cradled with each other, they slipped into a deep, real sleep.

*

They awoke in each other's arms to the disturbance of noises at the wall, and it took McCoy a moment to understand.

"They are opening the wall...?" he whispered in disbelief. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave in. "They are coming for us! They are freeing us! Spock, we'll be free!"

"McCoy..." Spock reached out for him, touching his shoulder.

McCoy turned and touched the Vulcan's hand. "Oh, Spock..." Words failed him, and so he turned back to watch the stones crumble to the floor. But when the dust settled, it was Stonn who entered, a long saber dangling at his side.

McCoy tensed with foreboding. On his shoulder, Spock's touch intensified, hot fingers tightly closing over his clavicle.

"T'Pau is dead," Stonn said, without further introduction. "The new matriarch gave me the right to choose your destiny." He looked from one to the other. Spock's grip on McCoy's shoulder tightened to a painful level.

"My sons are the heirs; their age is sufficient. It would not be logical to let you live." He stepped further in and drew the saber in an unambiguous gesture.

So that was it, McCoy thought. It was a strangely calm conclusion. He turned toward Spock. "You knew, didn't you?"

Spock took McCoy's hand. "I did not want to voice my suspicion."

McCoy smiled. "Somehow I guessed it anyway." He raised Spock's fingers to his lips. "Thank you for this night. For the reality of this dream."

Spock reached out and kissed the man with whom he had gone through few highs and many lows. "We will meet again on the other side, Leonard," he whispered when he withdrew.

"You've never called me that," McCoy replied deeply moved. He pulled the Vulcan close again for another kiss.

"Ready?" Stonn's voice broke in sharply. He stood at the door, the saber's tip placed between his boots, his fingers tightly gripping the handhold.

The lovers parted, eyes locked. Then Spock began to turn, but McCoy held him back. "Let me go first," he said. "I can't -" His voice broke as he realized that he wanted to avoid some last pain by giving it to Spock, and shame flooded him. But he was unable to pretend anything in this moment - this moment in which reality was clearer than it had been for far too long.

"As you choose," Spock said softly.

"Do not delay," Stonn ordered coldly. The saber's blade hit the floor with a sharp metallic ring.

McCoy met Spock's gaze for one last time before he turned toward the armed Vulcan.

"Kneel down," Stonn said, and McCoy complied, taking in the feel of the floor under his bare legs as he placed his palms neatly on his thighs. Then he looked up into the eyes of his executioner, and there was no fear when he saw Stonn lifting the saber and striking down.

And with darkness came peace.


End file.
